


Train

by Vrunka



Series: The Cruelties of Love [2]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 20:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14601216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: What can I say? I can’t get enough of this sad fucked up dynamic. Comes somewhere between chapter 2 and 3 from My One And but it can stand alone as just some smut.





	Train

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I can’t get enough of this sad fucked up dynamic. Comes somewhere between chapter 2 and 3 from My One And but it can stand alone as just some smut.

His skin feels too tight, punctured in places, leaking parts of himself through the hospital.

He’s bleeding.

That’s not his imagination.

The red, slow dribble of it from his side. He leans against the wall. There are bodies on the floor that he will not look at. It’s been a while since Jacob’s has put him through a trial like this.

“Well done, Pratt,” Jacob says. Speak of the devil. He’s grinning, Staci can hear it in his voice.

Staci does not look up. He clutches his wounds. “How many days?” he asks. The constant ache of his stomach is somewhat dulled so it cannot have been too long.

“Three. You’re getting better, getting faster. You gonna thank me?”

“Thank you, sir,” Staci says. Automatic. The words don’t even burn as they leave his throat.

Jacob’s hand grabbing him by the face is a different matter completely. Staci shivers at the contact, flinches away. Jacob persists, however, scratching his fingers through the growth of Staci’s beard. He makes a pleased noise when Staci finally, finally manages to relax into the touch.

Staci thinks of the last few times. Jacob in the afterglow so strangely serene, with his hands sunk in Staci’s hair and his cock slipping soft from Staci’s mouth.

“You want a reward,” Jacob asks. Standing too close. Voice pitched low, anyone else and it would be downright teasing. Staci doesn’t know what to do with these new glimpses of Jacob the person that keep leaking through.

He takes a shuddering breath, pulling it between his teeth.

“Yes, sir,” he says. 

He expects to be shoved to the ground right after. But instead Jacob tugs him away from the wall, ushers him forward and out the door. A hand at the base of Staci spine, keeping him from straying.

Up, up they go. Until they are outside Jacob’s private bathroom. Staci has never been in here; stood outside, waiting on Jacob before, sure, but he’s never been allowed within it.

Jacob pushes the door open with the flat of his palm.

It’s about as utilitarian inside as Staci would expect. A tiny shower in the corner, bare tile floor with a drain and a lip to keep the water in. A tattered curtain. Chipped linoleum.

Jacob’s shampoo. A bar of soap.

Staci stares at it. Uncomprehending.

“Well, go ahead and strip,” Jacob says. “I didn’t intend to waste all day up here with you.”

“Sir?”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you, Pratt,” Jacob asks. Mocking in his tone. That familiar knife-edge of cruel and kind. Which side of the razor they fall on is purely luck.

His hand tightens at the base of Staci’s spine, right above his ass.

Slowly, Staci begins to strip. He drags the filthy shirt up and over his head. The undershirt follows. His boots. His jeans.

The small wounds from the training, little bodily injuries that Staci has learned to be strong enough to ignore, seem to hum as he steps into the cubicle. He starts to pull the curtain, for modesty’s sake, but Jacob’s tongue clicks in reprimand and Staci immediately stops.

Jacob.

Watching him.

Silent. Hulking. Like some predator. Still not a wolf, Jacob’s hunger is more reptilian in nature. More alien. More cold.

Staci’s hands itch to cover himself. He holds them steady at his side.

Jacob’s eyes seem to roam over him. Staci can almost feel his gaze like a caress. Phantom fingers sliding over his abused flesh. The thought should turn his stomach, make him feel paranoid. Instead it just boils in his gut, uncertain and trembling. Awaiting judgement.

“Go ahead,” Jacob says, sounding almost bored. A counterpoint to the look in his eyes, the sharp alertness. Studying every detail.

With permission, Staci turns.

At first the water is too hot. Scalds where it touches. Staci hisses, but he doesn’t back out of the spray, leaves it for a second longer than he should, reveling in the feel of it scouring his skin. Burning away the old sweat and dirt.

The pressure is much better than the communal showers downstairs. Staci tips his head back, eyes closed to feel the spray pelt against his lids.

It could almost be home.

Home.

A thought he has avoided for weeks. What has become of home. What has become of his apartment, his friends. His own tiny fucking shower with his bottles of body wash, his expensive conditioner. His Jeep, left sitting in the parking lot at the station.

Staci curls his hands against his thighs as the thoughts riddle through him. Leave him feeling more hollow and shaken than the training every could. He takes a shuddering breath. Another. Clenching his teeth.

He cried a lot in those early days.

He had thought himself pretty well out of tears.

When Jacob’s hands touch him, it’s a jarring, horrible thing. They are so gentle as they slide around Staci’s hip and his ribs. They are so soothing and Staci, despite himself, relaxes into the comfort they offer. If it was just anyone—some lover or some friend or anyone anyone but Jacob Seed—

But it is Only Jacob. Could Only be Jacob.

“Hey now,” his voice says in Staci’s ear. He pulls Staci back against him. He took the time to shed his clothes, skin to skin, Staci is surprised but not shocked.

The inevitable slide into what has become for them routine. Not a routine either of them planned for, he doesn’t think, but what has simply evolved as such. The weak have their purpose and the strong...the strong have such urges.

“Why are you crying?” Jacob asks. His beard sliding soft and wet along Staci’s shoulder. Understanding in his voice, fake, fake, fake.

“I’m not,” Staci says. His own voice is brittle. Almost too quiet beneath the rattling of the shower.

Jacob bites down on the swell of his joint, right where Staci’s shoulder starts the climb into his neck. The soft expanse of muscle, gone even softer with a lack of nutrients. The bite isn’t hard, but it’s reprimand all the same.

Staci flinches. He grasps Jacob’s hands where they are still clutching him. “How can you ask me that? Everything I’ve—my life is gone. My...my...” He turns, elbows brushing Jacob’s stomach, knees knocking together. Frowning. Despair rolling into anger, righteous defiance. He pushes at Jacob’s shoulder, like shoving at a mountain, but the intent is clear enough. “Your fucking family,” Staci hisses, “took everything from me. You did.”

Jacob catches his wrist when Staci goes to push him again. Pitifully easy. One large hand immobilizing him, using the grip to walk the two of them back. Caging Staci between his body and the cold tile wall.

Mostly out of the spray now, Staci shivers.

“I thought you were over these childish, bullshit tantrums,” Jacob says.

Staci feels his mouth open, the placating, mewling ‘I am’ that his training wants to answer. He forces his jaw closed. His teeth click together. A beat, Jacob studying him, eyes roving over his face. Another, Jacob’s knee sliding between Staci’s own.

“Fuck you,” Staci manages, shaking. “God, I hate you.”

Jacob says nothing. His fingers squeeze around Staci’s wrists but not hard enough to really hurt. Indulgent.

Indulging Staci’s childish—

Staci twists, his eyes close. He is crying. Sobbing. He can’t help it. Every shudder, every tear is torn from him.

And Jacob allows it. Says nothing. Just holds Staci suspended while Staci writhes and cries and tires himself out. It doesn’t take very long. Three days without food, three days of training, there is only so much fuel left for this much of an exertion.

Staci slumps in Jacob’s grip. His head sags forward.

Jacob licks his lips, audible from how close they are even over the pattering of the shower. He drops Staci’s hand and instead runs his fingers through Staci’s beard.

It isn’t sweet or caring; it cannot be. Staci steels himself for the rush of warmth that accompanies these small softnesses nonetheless. Jacob the man, Jacob the human who does have some fucking weakness. The warmth happens all the same, opening from his gut like a flower, blooming. The conditioning swirling in him, making him feel absurdly grateful for the small kindnesses.

“Are you done?” Jacob asks.

Feebly, Staci nods. He expects to be mocked, forced to his knees, humiliated further for this belligerent display. But Jacob it seems is full of surprises today. He pulls the two of them back under the spray.

Staci watches as he grabs the shampoo, watches as he fills his palm with it. Recaps the bottle and drops it at their feet.

His calloused fingers in Staci’s hair. Pulling slightly. It would be easier if Staci were shorter, would be more comfortable. But Staci is in awe that it’s happening at all. Brain stalling over the fact that this is Jacob Seed and he is...is fucking washing Staci’s hair for him.

Efficient and cold.

But washing his hair.

Staci shudders out a breath. Relaxes into the touch somewhat, going pliant and soft when Jacob turns him to work the lather in better.

Completely detached. Staci feels adrift. Confused and lost with only the assurances of his training to tell him that this is a good thing, it can only be a good thing with how right it feels.

Staci unsure of why, or how it will be taken, lifts a hand behind him and squeezes Jacob’s hip.

The effect is immediate. Jacob makes a low sound in his throat, a groan, a growl, he steps closer. Chest pressed to Staci’s back, all pockmark scars and scratchy hair. Semi-hard cock against the swell of Staci’s ass.

His chin hooks over Staci’s shoulder once more. The air between them is humid, breath mingling, made worse by the heat of the water. Staci leans his forehead against Jacob’s, hating himself even as he does it.

“This what you want, Pratt?” Punctuated by a shifting of the hips. His cock gliding up the cleft of Staci’s ass to grind slightly at the base of his spine. Dragging back down.

Staci does not.

Staci does.

He isn’t sure which part of him can truly be chocked up to the conditioning anymore. Jacob’s cock against him feels good in equal measures that it makes his skin feel like it’s molting off of him. Where there is disgust there is also deep, deep longing.

“Yeah,” Pratt says. “Yes, please.”

Jacob pushes the two of them against the wall once more. The cold tile against Staci’s nipples is distracting detail, the contrast between it and Jacob’s body plastered to his back. Jacob’s hip still beneath his palm. Jacob’s mouth crushing against his.

His cock ruts up against the slick, cool tile as Jacob’s slides between his thighs. The angle isn’t as easy as when Staci had been bent over the desk for it; Jacob’s cockhead thrusts against his taint once, twice, before smoothing some.

Jacob grunts, shifts, body weight leaving Staci for only a second as he moves and Staci doesn’t know why but he aches to have it back, Jacob crushing him against the wall, so big and so strong above him and—

When his hands return to Staci’s hip, they’re slick with body wash, and his cock is as it nestles once more between Staci’s thighs. Even strokes, nice and strong. Jacob’s teeth at the back of his neck.

Claiming.

Staci shivers, his fingers curl on the wall, peeling grout beneath his fingertips. Disgusted and desperate, running at odds within him.

“Do it,” he says, voice echoing reedy and whining off the tile. “God, fuck, get this over with.”

Jacob chuckles. It rumbles in his chest where it is pressed to Staci’s back. It tumbles from his lips against Staci’s moist skin. His hips snap forward, raw friction even with the makeshift lube, cock dragging over Staci’s skin.

Fucking his thighs.

And it’s impossible to deny this time the way it’s sparking down Staci’s spine. Bright, bright, bright. Staci’s cock hardening against the wall. He’s managed all these other times to avoid the frankly primal desire that he feels every time Jacob makes him submit.

This time is different.

Only this time.

Staci drops a hand to fist his own cock while Jacob ruts against him. Groaning out his appreciation, a rough, “Good boy, peaches. Shit—hnn—that’s it.”

Good boy.

He is good.

Staci doesn’t muffle the compelled agreement he feels. The rolling, “Yeah, fuck yes,” breathy and hitched as he arches into Jacob’s hands and Jacob’s thrusts.

Submitting fully.

Committing fully.

Somewhere in the past a man named Staci Pratt is getting out of his Jeep and it’s Tuesday and it’s early and his shirt isn’t even fully buttoned because his alarm went off late and he hadn’t had time to make coffee and he knows the shit Nancy brews isn’t nearly strong enough, but it’s work and he’s here and despite himself he loves his job and closes the door to his car and squints up at the sun and he has no idea he has no idea no idea what will become of him.

What has become of him.

Staci comes against the wall, the splashing finality of it, dripping and white against the off-white tile. Jacob shudders behind him, clenching grip on Staci’s hips hard enough to bruise the already tender and reddened skin.

Sticky, flooding heat between Staci’s thighs, slick when he adjusts them, when Jacob pulls out.

Breathing between his teeth. So big. And so strong.

“Fuck,” he drawls. “That was good,” he says.

Staci nods, dumbly, mute. “Yes, sir,” he says.

He can feel Jacob tense behind him. A slight stutter in his breath. A pause.

“You gonna thank me?”

Staci closes his eyes. Head leaning against the tile, warm now from his own leeched body heat. He takes a breath.

“Thank you, sir,” he says.

He’s good. He’s good.

So it Only burns a little.


End file.
